


Tin and Gems

by littleweedwrites



Series: An Edinburgh Holiday [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ADHD, Alcoholism, Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Edinburgh Castle, Epilepsy, Gen, M/M, Tourette's Syndrome, mentions of vomit, set in 2028
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleweedwrites/pseuds/littleweedwrites
Summary: What happens the day after John and James reconnect intimately in Edinburgh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't sleep, not really.

Sleep, as it turns out, for John, is hard to come by. Despite how cathartic it had been somehow, letting his despair over his husband’s death spill over the dam he had walled up against it, and falling asleep floating on that current, it hasn't had a positive effect. He has managed probably thirty minutes before he jerks awake, breath burning up in his chest and in a cold sweat, James having rolled away to the other side of the bed.

Somehow in his rest he thought he'd wake surrounded by the long, lithe limbs of Sherlock, to that particular lavendery musky smell of his. And it's painful that he doesn't. He resettles himself, and drops reluctantly back off. Only to wake again scant time later. And it continues: no matter how many times he wakes during the night, shakes himself down, tries to focus on something else; anything else. He can’t rid himself off the flood of bittersweet memories and cruel nightmares. He imagines not being there for Sherlock at the end. Missing the crucial moment of his passing. And it seems his mind’s favourite trick is that it’s all an elaborate ploy, something constructed by Sherlock to rid himself of John. In these dreams, Sherlock is going off with Moriarty, or Irene, or both. It’s utterly ludicrous, but then dreams never do make much sense.

And when he does lie awake in the in-between, there’s a heavy blanket of guilt. Guilt that he's still there, with James. A sense that he could have done more, maybe noticed sooner that Sherlock was sick. Stayed, instead of run away with his then tiny daughter all those years ago; given them more time. It’s irrational, senseless, and yet, in the unfamiliar murk of the apartment bedroom, dammingly oppressive. 

Eventually, as the first vestiges of sunlight lick around the curtains he gets up and goes to make himself a cup of tea. He can't possibly lie there any longer. His stomach has wrung itself into knots, and the back of his throat tastes bitter. It's only just gone five. James will probably be up soon; always the early riser, even now. 

He sits on the sofa in the living area of the accommodation. It's functional. Not like this chair at home, which he misses a lot just now. The tea, blackcurrant, one of Lou's favourites, doesn't quite hit the right notes either. He knows why this is; another source of guilt. What he really wants - _needs-_ is a drink. A proper drink. Alcohol. He'd had one the other day; out with old work friends he'd stuck to what he always used to order, and it wasn't until he finished it that he realised. It was just the one he'd told himself. And they were out for a meal, it wasn't as if they were on the piss. Now he knows that it could be a costly mistake. He hasn't told James, or Louise; she'd hit the roof, the last thing they need right now. He just needs to get through the day.

He waits, restless, stewing in his own numb and aching silence. Today is going to be hard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wakes; and John wakes the dogs.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, thoughts of his late husband shrouding him; but now he’s finally tired, just as he hears James rousing in the bedroom. He swigs down the last of the tea (cold) and interests himself in the news on his tablet. (It’s 06:15) All to make it seem like he hasn't been sitting there lost in a fugue.

"Morning, Watson." James uses his surname as pet name these days, an inside joke, he often calls Louise 'Miss Watson'. He smiles broadly at John. His grin is bright and relaxed; last night obviously did him some good, at least, thinks John. Shame the same can't be said the other way.

"Morning." John tries to keep his tone upbeat. James doesn't seem to notice any difference. Thank goodness.

"Do we have any set plans for the day? I thought I might go out and pick up breakfast for us all in a little while. Do you need another tea?"

That's one question too many for John in his tired state, so he only answers the first one.

"Erm. Nothing solid is planned for today. I think Lou wants to show you the castle properly. You can ask her when she wakes up."

"I shall. More tea?" James asks again.

"Yes. Go on then. Thanks, love." He hands the mug over to James, who leans down as well as he's able and plants a gentle kiss on John's forehead. It makes John smile, a little, but not nearly enough to break the fuzz he feels like he is in.

He watches James go off into the kitchen and goes to check on the dogs. They're both sleeping in with Louise; their usual spot. He gently pulls on the door and Penny, the red setter poodle cross, Sherlock's little companion comes over and and noses her way out. 

"Morning sunshine. Is your sister still in there?" John pops his head around the door to see Corra, Lou's assistance dog lying across the end of the bed, watching her mistress. Who is starfished out on the bed and is obviously stirring slightly as, as John watches her right arm keeps poking out from under the cover in the usual jerky movement she is subject to. The little apricot cockerpoo looks at him quizzically, but doesn't move from her spot on guard duty. “Corra.” John whispers, trying his best, desperate not to properly wake Louise.

"Mmmmmph... Go away, Daddy." Comes the mumbling, half asleep voice of his teenage offspring. "I still sleeping."

"Sorry, baby. I was just going to let the dogs out into the garden, and then give them breakfast, because they've been in with you all night."

"Fine. Bit longer, leave me sleep?" Her brain isn't properly in gear so all grammar is out of the window.

"Of course." He doesn't really want her up yet. She takes up a lot of mental energy he doesn't have.

"Shoo, Corra. Go weeeeee." She holds the end of the word on long past it being necessary. She can't help it. And John watches carefully, as she jiggles her legs underneath the dog to encourage her to move. He should be feeling something, usually Louise being cute like that makes him laugh. But today nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt at tea and confession.

John lets the dogs out into the small garden attached to the apartment to stretch their legs and sort their business out, and joins James at the little table in the kitchen where his tea has been left. James is looking over the puzzle section of yesterday's newspaper.

"Thanks for the tea." It's a large mug of Earl Grey this time. James knows John often likes one in the morning. John thinks his partner shouldn't spoil him so much.

"You're welcome, we were out of the blackcurrant one. Sorry. I made myself the last one before I realised. I'll pick some more up later." James says genially. "I take it you're leaving the little one in bed a while longer."

"She told me to. We should be glad of the peace, James."

"She's no trouble, John. I'm used to her now, after all. Are you- Are you alright this morning? Just... last night, was amazing; but you were upset." James reaches out to John's hand gripped which is now gripped around his warm mug; he brushes John's knuckles gently. Why is everything done with such care? John doesn't deserve this attention, not so trustingly, not when all he is doing is failing at being good enough. "So I just wondered if you felt better today?"

"I'm fine." John lies. He can see James needs him to be fine. And how can he find the words to describe the chasm that seems to be gaping open inside him. "I- honestly James. I promise. I'm just... I'm a little tired. My shoulder is aching a bit. This bed isn't as comfortable as ours at home, that's all." John constructs a smile; an imitation of the merest hint of a joke. Fooling Sherlock would never have been this easy. No. Stop. Not now; don't think of Sherlock. John looks down into his tea. Lifts it, takes a sip, hides his mouth so it doesn’t betray him.

James nods, he isn’t really even looking at John, and then breaks out laughing.

"Oh god. Listen to us. Moaning about the comfort of the furniture. It's a far cry from when we were on tour together, isn't it?"

"All of it is. It was a different life, James. But- I-" John thinks about saying something. Confessing how he much he's slipping, the unease of his own person, and the lime-bright need for something stronger than tea and coffee... He does not do this. He clams up. Changes tack. "I'm going to have a bath. Relax those muscles. Especially if Louise does want us to be out in the real world again today."

"Good call. As soon as she's up I'll head out for those croissants. You said the place we passed yesterday was good didn't you? That little patisserie on the corner."

"Yes. It always was when we lived up here. Louise will want an apple juice, and anything with chocolate in it.”

”As usual. I do know her, you know...” James looks momentarily hurt, and that just emphasises how in the wrong John really is. But then he brightens again. “I’m teasing! Knowing Louise it would be the one shop where she’ll drink the coffee and deign to eat a plain croissant. Just like–“ James stops himself. He was about to say Sherlock. But it seems he stops more for himself than John.

“You’re right. She is.” John says plainly. Moving on. “And I am still sorry. Of course you know her... I don’t deserve you.” He still wants to say something...

”That’s nonsense. You do.” James seems to think the conversation is over so goes back to his puzzle page, and John feels a fraud for being able to elicit such sureity. 

John leaves the rest of his tea. He doesn’t really want it, and he gets up and heads to the bathroom. Closing and locking the door is like another switch. He sinks down, curls up, back against the door and sobs noiselessly into his knees. He has to do something about the truth; the reality that he isn’t what his daughter or remaining partner think he is. But it’s a reality he knows he won’t be changing today. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is a peaceful bath too much to ask?

John runs the bathwater a tiny bit below it being too hot, drops in one of the bath bombs James packed for him, and gets in. For now it quietens the itch just underneath his skin, but not the one burning somewhere else inside, deeper. He lets himself drift a little bit, concentrating on the sensation of water lapping around his limbs, the scent of... what’s in this bath bomb... ylang ylang? Probably. He could quite happily fall asleep in the tub. Maybe he does. At the very least for a short time finds some semblance of peace; until the noise of his daughter knocking on the door pulls him out of the quiet.

“Da-Daddy! Is my- my- my- crocodile, my hairbrush in theeeere?”

The water is starting to feel tepid. He probably needs to wash his hair and get out. He squeezes some shampoo into his hand and lathers it up. It’s the last of a travel bottle of Sherlock's. James must have packed it, maybe because he thinks it helps. John’s throat feels tight, and his chest heaves when the smell hits him. Not the best plan, after all.

“I don’t know, Louise. Isn’t it in your ensuite?” His voice breaks on the words. He hopes she doesn’t notice.

“No. No. Er. Nope. Not a sausage. Oh yuck. I hate sausages. No. Uncle James hasn’t seen it either. Useless. Oh no, he wasn’t useless! He helped me look but now he’s gone out, because I’m hungry, so I need you to help me look. Please?"

“I’ll be out in a minute. Keep looking.”

“I will! Corra is helping too!”

So much for any more respite. He rinses off the shampoo, the pervading signature scent of Sherlock now in full force around him, like a cloak. It's all he can do not to just go back to bed smelling like this and pretend everything is as it was. He sighs, grabs a towel, wraps it around it his waist, and heads out to help Louise on the hunt for the lost hairbrush. He walks past a table in the hallway; and there it is, clear as day, one hairbrush. He picks it up and take it into the living room where his daughter is sitting on the sofa, her phone in her hand, dog by her feet, looking suspiciously inactive for someone meant to be searching for a lost item.

"Lou! How did you miss this? In the hallway..."

"Oh. I-I- No idea."

 "Did you get me out of the bath on purpose? Or did you get distracted? And did James take Penny out?" He knows that's too many questions. Part of him wants to yell. Really shout. It's just coming up to half part eight. And whilst it's summer and it's warm, he is dripping wet and subsisting on next to no sleep, and his child is bordering on infuriating. Not on purpose, he knows that. Logically, he knows that, but he wants to scream. He doesn't. He pushes yet another feeling away, and takes a step closer to drinking later.

"Option two. Point twit-twoo. Yes, Uncle James took Penny-elope out. I- I was just looking at the website for the castle. To know what's happening there. And then the website for the cinema, to see what's on. The one with the sofas. We are going aren't we? You promised."

John had promised. Then promptly forgotten. The cinema is one of Louise's favourite places. Having been there over and over again, since she was a little girl it's a sanctuary for her. Somewhere to get lost in the big screen, eat popcorn and be comfortable, properly herself. They are relaxed about the amount of noise she makes too. They probably need to go. It would be good for them.

"Oh yes. That's fine." John promises again. And mentally promises himself a whiskey. Just one. Later. Which reminds him. "Have you taken your medication?"

"Oh... No. I- Is it time already?"

"It's gone time. Take it with breakfast. I need to get dressed. Can you reach plates for all of us. James will be back soon."

John goes to his bedroom and dries and dresses. When he gets back James has returned, and by the time they have all eaten their pastries and drunk their coffee (or apple juice) John feels like something approaching a human being. He still needs that whiskey though. Later. There's always an excuse to leave Louise with James. He tells himself he needs it. More lies, more promises made and broken.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fantas-tic stream of consciousness.  
> (This chapter is POV Louise. It's fun writing her POV. You'll see why.)

Louise, Lou (Bee, not Bee, she’s not Bee anymore) is dressed. Her dad had to remind her a few times. She didn’t mean to need reminding. She just got distracted. He knows that.

This holiday is hard.

She has navy tracksuit bottoms on. They are easier than jeans. Her tee shirt is soft, grey, and has a star pattern, and she has a scarf on that is blue. She likes to wear it. It's special. Being dressed is a veritable success. She has boots on. Her Aunt bought them. They are sparkly and blue too. Doc Martens. Blue is her favourite colour.

Also apparently, two monkeys are fighting over watermelons. Or that's what she wants to scream.

She doesn't.

She makes a clicking noise with her tongue instead, and bomps her head gently against the glass of the door, twice. Three times. Four times. Five. Enough to make the monkey noise that wants to escape anyway go away. She stops.

She presses her ear to the seat belt. She likes the noise that makes for some reason. Daddy is driving. He doesn't like driving the hire car. It's not like their car at home, with enough space for Lou and the dogs in the back, and enough space for Papa and… Oh. Not for Papa. The space isn't for Papa anymore.

Just Lou, and Penny, and Corra-dog. Uncle James is in the passenger seat of this too small car. He wanted to sit next to Daddy. He's got lovey eyes on today. He loves her dad. This makes Lou happy, because her dad deserves to be loved, and Uncle James is just right. She is looking forward to showing Uncle James all the beautiful views over Edinburgh. He has sort of seen some of them. They went to the Tattoo. That’s at the castle on the front bit. It has a name. She can’t remember. She is so glad she doesn’t live here anymore though; in Scotland. She used to miss it so much, but London is a lot flatter, which is good for them as she can’t do the hills very easily anymore. That’s why they’re in the car, because Uncle James is the same. Not good at hills.

The castle has disabled parking. Which is good. And they’ll be gentle with themselves when they are there. Her face feels tingly. Tingly faces are not a good thing. Tingly faces usually mean that something is going a bit wrong somewhere in her brain. She doesn’t want that today. She closes her eyes and hums to herself. The tingling stops. The car stops. She wasn’t paying enough attention to realise where they were. They all get out and sort out going in. They have tickets. They booked them already. Louise did that yesterday. She does things like that, because she doesn’t want to not get in somewhere. Especially if they planned it. The dogs get to go in. Because they are working. Corra is very good at work. Penny has a looser understanding of it. She didn’t get as much training as Corra. There was never time with… No. Don’t think about that. Think about the pretty things in the shop, because there might not be time for shopping later, because once they’ve walked to all the places they need to walk Lou will be tired. Shopping now is good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James looks out, at the view and for his family.
> 
> (James POV this time. :) Hope you enjoyed a little look into Lou's stream of consciousness.)

James is glad they've given themselves time enough to wander around the castle without a set plan or schedule today. The only thing Louise is adamant about is the views, and showing them to James. They are beautiful. He can see right over the city. The Old Town. The New Town. Right out over the Forth, and to Fife in the distance. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Louise that he's seen them already. He’s been here before; years ago, long before he’d even met John. Serving members of the armed forces can visit the castle for free, and it had been someone’s stag do. He forgets whose, but he hasn’t forgotten the views. 

“That’s the kids hospital.” Says Louise, pointing out a large white building on the skyline. “I’ve been there a lot. I wonder- it’s wonderful- no... if Emma is having fun in her new job. She moved to somewhere else to work. Out. Out. Outside. It's cold. No... Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to go there anymore. I got too big. And... never mind...”

She sighs. James understands she has conflicting feelings about the place. And he doesn’t object when she slips her hand into his for a comforting squeeze.

Emma's the neurologist who had diagnosed Louise's ADHD as a little child, and then had seen her again a number of times when things had become more difficult, especially with the development of Tourette's. John speaks of her quite highly and still corresponds with her now on a more personal basis. Louise really likes her; which is high praise from the girl, who is notoriously picky about who she favours in interactions.

But she has less than sunny memories there too having also spent time there when she had meningitis, just over 18 months ago. It had been a terrible shock to John and Sherlock- who had only recently reunited. They'd had a tense time whilst she fought off the infection, and whilst she'd responded quickly to the antibiotics in the end, she'd been left with some permanent side effects. Physically, she is now weaker on her left side; although physiotherapy has done a lot to help her make up for this: she has a splint to wear on her arm on that side. Her Tourette's and ADHD have worsened too, and to top it off she developed epilepsy as a result of the brain injury. It's mostly controlled with medication, and is usually partial seizures; out of everything it's her greatest annoyance. It’s because she hates the extra vigilance she's subject to from John and James, she’s fiercely independent; and James hates that it adds extra strain to the usual vagaries of life with a teenager.

James opts to distract her. “What’s that building there?” He asks, pointing out some other prominent feature, knowing she won’t resist explaining to him. As she confidently launches into an explanation he turns to John. Then realises he’s moved a little way off from them. He’s looking out at the same view, but with much less joy than is evident in Louise.

It must be hard for him, James thinks; this city had been his life for over 10 years, longer than the all too brief time he’d been with Sherlock. He’d raised his daughter here, worked to become a consultant, lived here, breathed the air, and misses it, James knows, despite everything. He lets John have his moment and just catches the end of Louise’s explanation of what he asked about, enough that he can fudge the appropriate answer.

He can be good at this parenting business, when he lets himself.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John contemplates his options.

They've just stopped for a snack. The thing about his daughter, John knows, is that she's either starving hungry, or nil by mouth with nothing in between, and if you don't catch her at the right time there's hell to pay. John is glad he packed snacks, instead of them going to one of the cafés, less temptation; they're settled onto a bench and the dogs are having their own rest and water by Lou's feet.

People are doing generally one of two things: spotting Louise first, at which point the need for the dogs usually becomes obvious quickly, or spotting the dogs first, then their reactions are a mixture of annoyed, and perplexed mostly, until they catch on. People are much more used to seeing other types of working dogs, Labradors or Collies, than they are little poodle crosses. So far no one has tried to pet the girls, but John would probably snap if they did. Distracting them from keeping an eye on Louise is at the very least annoying and at worst could be fatal, especially if she were on her own. Most of their time though is spent just keeping her calm, and both of them are trained for help with physical tasks as well, picking things up and help with dressing, which is fine despite their small size. Louise is hardly going to win any awards for her height; even at thirteen she looks younger, as she always has, although she has shot up recently.

Penny still needs some more training to help Louise specifically. She was mostly Sherlock's dog, rather than Lou's; but she’s still excellent with her. Sherlock didn't have her long, but she was useful to him for both companionship and support in the last few months of his life. God. He needs to stop thinking about this. It's not helping, the way everything leads back to his husband.

And after all that, the number of disapproving scowls at them are pissing John off. Lou's not there to be gawked at. He's used to it, but today it's just another thing mounting in his litany of stressors.

So far they have visited the shop, so that is out of the way, Louise had picked out a couple of pieces of jewellery, for herself; and some other souvenir bits to give to her cousins. Then appreciated the views as requested by Louise, the city is still as beautiful as ever especially in the August sunshine; and just now they spent some time in the regimental museums. Both John and James still find those things really interesting; they’d found lots to look at together and discuss, whilst Louise opted to put her headphones on and just wander around after them, trying not to read all of the captions on the exhibits aloud.

She’s wearing them still now, singing quietly along to the music, conducting the orchestra with right hand, and her right foot keeping time; her spontaneous tics diminished to next to nothing. When she’s absorbed doing something that sometimes helps, and music is an absolute passion, especially opera. John smiles recalling her twelfth birthday treat, the first one after she's been so sick: a private performance, at the Royal Albert Hall no less, with a reception and meet and greet with the performers afterwards. It had been almost entirely organised by Sherlock. Again, yet another thing to miss him for. 

John thinks carefully about what he can do to spend just a little time away from his family later, just so he can have that whiskey in peace. He tells himself he deserves it, that it’s absolutely just going to be one, and he needs it.

By the time they’re finished, John has convinced himself it’s fine, and formulated a plan to make sure he’s separated from James and Lou later.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louise is ovewhelmed in a gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louise's POV again. :) Hope you're all enjoying this little tale. This little family are always a joy to write... even when I'm putting them through it.

The castle is getting increasingly busy. Louise decides to keep her headphones on as a buffer to the maddness, whilst they look around the war museum, which is a bit quieter. Holding tightly onto Corra's harness; Uncle James is walking with Penny. In one way she's bored of looking at more military stuff and in another way she wants to see and read it all. It's been ages since they were last here. She keeps lagging behind her parents, because once she starts reading a caption she wants to read all of it. Every. Last. Word. She wishes she could make notes of the artifact numbers too. They're such a cool system. And there are little symbols and numbers on the captions, reminding her she could have gotten an audio tour; she could have practised her French that way.

She's currently standing looking at an really old Union flag, the version from 1700s, only featuring a saltire and a cross. One for Scotland and one for England. It could be the flag of herself instead. She's Scottish, but she lives in London now, and was born there too. Though she obviously doesn't remember that. Although in reality the flag has a violent history of subjugation. So she wouldn’t want it. The information accompanying the display is really interesting though.

Someone behind her jostles into her trying to get a closer look themselves. Annoying. She turns and glares at them. They speak to her, she can see their voice is raised in their own frustration, from the shape of their mouth, the crinkles around their eyes, but she can't hear them, because her ears are full of opera. She just shakes her head, to show she hasn’t understood. She might have actually said something, involuntarily, a tic, probably, actually, but she’s focussed on the music, she can’t hear herself. A combination of mild hearing loss (that happened when she was sick), noise cancelling headphones, and her brain’s own ‘self screeening’ skills will do that. They speak again. She’s still none the wiser, she’s not recognising the shapes of their words, her brain is being fuzzy today, it’s not useful. Shake of a finger. Point at her dog. Corra is wearing the jacket of the charity who helped provide and train her, it’s obvious what she is for!

Louise closes her eyes tight, shut against a niggle of discomfort, panic, fear; one which is expanding, borne of being too personned by an unkind stranger. She lives in London for goodness sake, and is, in lots of ways, used to people, but today her patience is wearing thin, like the cotton of the aged flag, or a muslin the sort Mrs Hudson used to use for making marmalade. (Oh that’s a maybe a sad thing, those hurt, like burning.) Strong once, enough for it’s original purpose, but now grown fragile, with liability to turn to hole. There is an insistent tap on her arm. It feels awful, a violation of her dermal layers. Sometimes even light touches can sting like bruises. She opens her eyes. The person is still there, trying to get her attention, for something. Their face pursed in dismay, confusion, anger.

She steps back away from them to give herself space, and bumps into someone else now behind her. It’s now much busier than when they came in. She can feel her eyes getting wet. Now is not a time to cry, but it happens anyway. She has gone away from that person; slipping her way through the crowd of people. Looking. Trying to find her dad, and Uncle James. They must be around somewhere... She can’t have lost them... Heart flutters, her throat is dry.

She’s backed herself into a corner, slunk down. Away from the heavy footfall. Corra is protecting her, on her lap head butting into her chest. Tugging a toy from the side pocket of Lou’s backpack where she can easily reach it. Proffering it. Queenie. The best bee toy. A present from Sherlock, her Papa, when she was so very tiny. Lou takes it, puts her close to her face, it smells right, like home and safety.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louise is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Staying with Lou's POV.  
> If you wonder what Queenie looks like [here](https://www.jellycat.com/bashful-bee-medium-bas3be/) she is as she would have looked when Sherlock bought her back in 2015.

Louise rubs Queenie's once white wings between her fingers over and over. Opera is still playing on her headphones, and Corra has lain down calmly next to her with her front paws and head resting reassuringly on Lou's lap. Her vision is all misty and blurry, but clearing, the tears drying up. She's watching feet, most going past, but a few wary and concerned people are congregating. She recognises none of the legs, so doesn't look up to anyone trying to interact with her. She's waiting for the right pairs, plus one russet dog and a cane. She looks at her watch, and realises what has seemed an eternity has only been several minutes. She catches sight of pale loafers, and familiar ankles; her dad is wearing shorts. Then nearly matching his hurried pace, a stick, and boots that are right: extra shiny- Uncle James still keeps them that way, his newest pair gifted to him at the Christmas just gone. Says that they'll last for years yet. And there are the fluffy legs, and happy Penny face. They've found her. Her dad kneels down in front of her, making sure not to crowd her. He speaks, but there’s no way she’ll get that right now.

“Stop. Sign, please?” She manages. She should be able to follow signing, and her music is keeping her calm, so she is not switching it off. She can’t possibly have a verbal conversation now. Also he looks worried. That wasn’t the plan. She needs to make sure he’s okay too.

“Hi, sweetheart.” He signs back to her. Good. “What happened? Panic attack? Seizure?”

"Someone bumped into me. Then they were cross with me. I don’t know why. I think... maybe I ticced at them? I just- I was upset because they came in my space, and then I realised I lost you. I’m sorry.” Her hands are still a little shaky, but this is so much easier than trying to speak right now.

"So. Not a seizure?” He asks again.

"No. Maybe. A little one? I feel a bit wobbly. But, it’s busy here and that is usual. It could be something. I’ll stay with you, in case. I promise. At least I didn’t get lost on purpose.”

“Makes a change for you.” He laughs. That’s better, he is right, dramatic flouncing off is a skill of hers. He offers a hand to help her up. The crowd of concerned onlookers has dispersed, Uncle James is quite good at getting people to move on.

She stops her music; her ears buzz as the sound goes away. Delightful. She pulls her headphones around her neck. It's still too busy and noisy, and she thinks about putting them back on. But she has to be brave. This way she can try and talk.

”H-hey." She starts. But the rest of the words stick in her throat and brain and won't come out. She signs the rest. "Daddy. I am really sorry. I wanted to read everything, but today is tricky.”

“No harm done, pixie. You’re safe.” He gives her a big long hug. She feels a lot of the wobble leave. It's so much better. He smells... like Papa. His shampoo. That's strange. But comforting. He curls his fingers into the long bit of her hair. That really helps. 

"Dad. I love you." She says, aloud. More confident again in her ability to speak clearly.

"I love you too, sweetheart." She can hear the catch in his voice. She didn't mean to make him cry. He must be happy though. That he found her.

Uncle James clears his throat behind them. “How about we go and have some lunch, and then you can tell us where we need to go next?”

"Good plan, love."


	10. Chapter 10

As much as John is giving off an  aura of being calm about momentarily losing Louise, inside it’s highlighted just how much this whole holiday is rapidly sliding into being awful, and he doesn’t know how to stop it, and part of him doesn’t want to.

James and Louise settle at a table, and John goes to order their food. The cafe is busy but the staff are being efficient. Even so it takes a while for John to reach the front of the queue. He orders two roast dinners for him and James, and gets Louise a vegetable lasagne, that way he can excuse them having popcorn for tea. Then he thinks hard about drinks. James and Louise can’t see him from their position looking out of a window, and it would be tempting to treat himself to that whisky already, but he can’t, not yet. In the end, he settles on a pot of fruit tea for James and Lou to share and gets himself a coffee. Then he has the joy of trying to carry it all to the table, luckily a staff member spots that he needs assistance and steps in, taking one of the trays.

When he does get back to the table Louise is chatting happily to James, a world away from how she was half an hour ago. Seeing them so happy and relaxed together despite how hard this whole situation should make John feel better, happy that they are happy. Instead, he hates himself more for feeling so wretched, and thinks about if he would feel better if he didn't succumb to that whisky. But he can't, he's running on empty as it is.

Lou is practically ecstatic to have lasagne. It's by far and away one of her favourite foods. If John let her get away with eating pasta for every meal she would, in fact there have been days where he has just for an easy life. She wrinkles her nose at the idea of the garlic bread though, declaring it to be too crunchy for today. Luckily there's salad and a portion of chips too, John knows his daughter at least, and James assists by eating the bread so it's not offending her anymore.

John, in contrast, struggles with his own dinner. He doesn't really want it. The piece of bacon joint is beautifully cooked, as are the glazed carrots it comes with and the other bits. But he doesn't have the energy or desire to eat it. He tries though. Makes all of the right noises. Goes through the motions; and once he’s done his plate looks as if he’s given it a decent go. What he has managed sits heavy in his stomach, a lump. He ignores the uncomfortable feeling and listens to Louise who is telling James all about tartans, obsessed as she is with fabrics. Eventually though she runs out of steam and James seizes the opportunity to change the topic of conversation.

"So, what are we doing with this afternoon then? Is there still more you want to see, Louise?"

"Yes! Can we go see the Honours?"

John isn’t sure that’s a great idea."Are you sure, pixie? They're likely to be busy." Queuing with Louise is always a nightmare, being in such close quarters is difficult and considering her struggle earlier in the day it sounds like a disaster. He’ll leave the decision to her though.

"I'm okay now. Please, Dad? I’ll be good.” She does get best beaming smile, and it wins him over as it always does. He knows he spoils her, even more so with everything thqt’e happened in the last couple of years.

"I'd love to see them, John. I haven't had a chance before."

"I- Of course you can. But is it okay if I give them a miss? I've seen them loads and there's some other things I'd like to look at more. Is that okay? I want to go and take a look at the shop that sells ceramics. I’ve obviously never been in and I want to pick up some presents."

Louise considers this. "Actually. That’d a really good idea. Yes. Do buy something for my aunts, and Uncle Myc?"

"It was Lillian I was thinking of most. I’m sure she’d love something from us. You know how she loves that stuff. But I’ll get something for Harry and Helen, and Mycroft too."

"Excellent, that sounds lovely. We’ll be alright, won’t we Miss Watson? We’ll have the dogs with us, John. And Louise is in better spirits now she’s eaten."

John, thinks that was far too easy, once they make their way out of the eatery and back into the sunshine, both James and Louise glad to be having some time together. Yes, too easy to get himself separated from them. Of course, he’ll go do that bit of shopping first, and then maybe go to the other little restaurant rather than the one they were just in. But he can have some time alone with his crowding thoughts, and a drink, or maybe two.


	11. Chapter 11

The queue to see Scotland’s own Crown Jewels is long, but moving quickly. James is enjoying the time with Louise. Even after eight months in her life he’s still learning things about her. She’d never before spoken at such length about tartans as she did over lunch. And he can hear how much living in London has flattened out her accent; now back in the thick of what she considers her home country she sounds more Scottish somehow.

He’s glad she seems to have recovered from her panic earlier. He knows himself how draining it is living like that, and he only experienced spells like those after he was injured, and with extensive therapy he can cope remarkably well now. He is in awe of her resilience, considering she’s struggled like that since she was small.

"Uncle James? Do you think Daddy is okay without us? He's quiet today. He misses Papa... doesn’t he?" Louise's face is plaintive. James isn’t sure where this conversation is going, and where he should lead it.

"I think so, sweetheart. We all do. Did you ever do this together? Come here."

"I– No... I mean Daddy and I did lots. But not with Papa. We did other things, together before we moved to London. Mostly the museum and the cinema where we’re going later. The museum, the ones in London too... where Papa used to take me... that’s our thing..." James can see her edging back towards being stressed, he changes the subject.

"Did you decide what we needed to go and see at the cinema?"

"Oh- yes..." That does the trick. She launches into an explanation of which Disney film it is they're going to see, and how it links to other ones in the series, and from there he knows she could talk forever. Disney is a massive passion of hers; many times he'd gone into the living room to find her and Sherlock under blankets engrossed in something animated by the studio. It always surprised James how into the films Sherlock was, but thinking about it it was more about his appreciation for how much his daughter loved them, and how close they'd been to losing her once, and how little time he knew they had left together with regards to his own failing health.

Sherlock and Louise had been amazingly close. John always remarks that they were cut from the same cloth and even Sherlock's older sister, Lillian and of course Mycroft seemed amused by their similarities so much that it had become something of a family joke. The main thing James noticed when he first met her was the same intensity she gives to her interests, and how she knows so much about the intricacies of specific things, but some ordinary tasks elude her. She's the first one to not have brushed her hair, in fact she hates it so much she frequently loses her brush, as she apparently did this morning. It's easier since she decided to have it a lot shorter; it had been somewhat drastic, with the middle left chin length and the rest undercut. Very daring for a 13 year old, and it'd been dyed darker with a natural dye; Lillian's eldest, Louise's cousin had done it almost a month ago a little after Sherlock passed away. It had been a way of Louise expressing her grief. It curls slightly too and that only increases the effect of making her more alike her Papa. And getting her to brush her teeth can be difficult, and packing is something she hates with the heat of asphalt in summertime; she has special cards to help her pack outfits because otherwise she prevaricates to the point that it isn't done.

They finally reach the head of the line, and are able to go into what is actually quite a small gallery, you can go down both sides of the display cases which are in the centre of the room, and there's security making sure people don't linger and that everyone can see. The room has no ambient light, no windows, and everything is lit by spots which are focuased on the precious jewellery. They are quite stunning, James supposes, if you like that sort of thing. They're a status symbol, accordant with the rank of royalty. He knows he's been part of that machine having served in the forces, so he understands why they're accorded such safeguarding.

Louise is staring at them. "Aren't they beautiful?" She intones reverently. She likes them for their history, what they mean to her beloved Scotland; and because she's somewhat of a magpie, and they are incredibly shiny. 

They look for a few minutes, and then they move on. It's once they are out of the room and into the exit corridor that Louise speaks again.

"I'm too- too-too hot." She looks a little flushed, and it is close, humid. And whilst the display room had been air conditioned, the day itself is far from cold, especially outside in the summer sunshine. Plus Louise is still wearing every single layer she'd left the house in, including the scarf of Sherlock's she refuses to part with.

"Let's go back outside..." James starts, but they barely go another five steps before James watches Louise crash to the floor, overtaken by a seizure.


	12. Chapter 12

John makes his trip to the shop quick. He has some idea of what everyone would like, thank goodness, and in the end settles for, a paperweight for Mycroft -he does actually use them in his casual study when he has the doors open in early the summer, a teaset for Lillian -the Holmes love of tea is obviously genetic, and some pieces of jewellery for Helen and Harry. He’s in and out in 20 minutes. And knows it took at least half of that time for James and Lou to get to the Crown room, never mind queue.

He goes to the other cafe and briefly ponders just getting himself a coffee. He knows he could. But he’s also been haunted by the spectre of his need for something stronger all day. He promised himself he could just have the one. So he orders a double whisky, and grabs a wrapped muffin to make it seem like he’s not just there to drink. At least a muffin won’t be wasted. Louise will eat it later, he’s sure.

He finds a quiet table away in a corner, and secretes himself there.

He stares at the whisky, as if trying to divine something in it’s amber ripples, it clings to the ice cubes. He swills it around in the glass. Smells it; feels his cells excite at the anticipation. Lifts it and takes a sip, feels the burn on his lips, tongue, the roof of his mouth. It’s not enough. He takes a larger swig. The warmth is comforting. Maybe he can sleep tonight after all. He finishes the rest straight down. And would like another.

He probably has time. He goes up and orders another. And a half a cider. No point doing things by halves. Or rather exactly that. The thought makes him laugh.

He feels better for the drink. It feels like he can distance himself from thoughts of Sherlock, just a little. Enough? He’s not sure. And he knows it's actually a shocking coping mechanism but today he just doesn’t care. The only thing the alcohol isn’t quieting is the stomach ache he has from dinner. It’ll probably go soon though.

He drinks the cider, and the lingers more over the second whisky. Taking his time. Let’s himself try and enjoy them. He knows he'll regret the drinks later, but he wants now to not think about that. It's nice in a way, just being on his own. His mind is still buzzing on the edges, with thoughts of what he needs to do at home, and things that still need sorting of Sherlock's, but the more he drinks the less that has a hold.

He is nearly at the bottom of the glass when his phone buzzes. A text from James.

**Where are you?**

He thumbs a quick reply.

**Taking a break. You okay?**

There isn't a quick response. Which puts John on edge. James isn't one to text unnecessarily, so John necks the dribble of whisky left and gathers his things together. His phone buzzes again as he exits the cafe and he finds a quiet spot to open it up.

**I'm fine. Lou's had a seizure.**

The bottom falls out of John's world for what feels the billionth time this year. 

What has he done?

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Louise tastes blood, which is wrong. Her tongue is sore. Then she realises her head feels as if it’s been in a vice, and has the vaguest awareness that, that means something really bad. 

Someone is trying to rouse her, she recognises her name, and the voice is... no. She isn’t sure. A man. There’s gentle yipping too. Corra-dog. She knows her. She tries to open her eyes, but it’s bright. Too bright. She hears a moan, and realises it’s herself. Great. She focuses in on the voice again. It's hard. She wants to sleep.

"Louise. It's James. You're safe. You've had a seizure."

"I'm sorry." She manages. Her words are clumsy in her mouth. Thick and unwieldy. Slurred. Her face feels wrong. James. Who is James? 

"Oh hey. There you are. Don't be sorry. These things happen. Does anything hurt?" Stupid question. Of course. Who is he? More important question. There’s a other one.

"My head? And... Where's Daddy?" The important question. Now she realises it, the fact that her father isn't there makes her panic a little. She doesn't remember when she last saw him. Forgetting stuff is scary. Someone else is missing... oh. No. He's gone. "Papa." She says, more by accident than anything. She knows. But James. Uncle James. That’s it! He doesn't know she knows.

"Oh, darling. He's..." His voice catches, "he's..." But he doesn't get any further because Louise's stomach turns, a wave of nausea rolling over her; the metal tang of blood and the weird smell of the carpet she's lying on, plus the panic of not having her dad there, make her suddenly retch. It’s all she can do to not vomit. That would be disgusting. Please not here. She is prone in a hallway having lost consciousness for however long. She has to move now! Before she adds more weird smells to the carpet.

“Sorry. So sorry. I know, no Papa.” She offers. No more talking though. It’s hard and her brain can’t word at the moment. She pushes herself up, ignoring the screaming warnings from her body to just stay put. Uncle James helps her sit up with his good arm. There’s a random staff member too, she assumes, the person has a name badge, fussing. Corra-dog comes straight over and settles her head in Lou's lap. Comforting. She cards her right hand deep into the fur on her neck. Soft.

”Should you be letting her move?” The fussing person.

”As I explained already, she’s epileptic. We’re used to this. You’ve called for a wheelchair and your mobility vehicle?” The staff member nods. “Then we’re fine for now.” There are no people passing. They must have cleared wherever they are when she went, wherever it is she goes.

Lou signs drink, at her Uncle, parent, person. There is water in her bag but she can’t get to it. As is so often the case when she has a generalised seizure like the one she just went through her already weakened left side capabilities diminish to almost nothing. She's effectively paralysed on that side now. Todd’s paralysis, the proper name. But no, it’s not his it’s Lou’s. It’s usually transient, but scary nonetheless. There is no way she could walk. He finds the water and gives it to her. She sips. Anymore would increase the sloshy feeling; it does make her feel a little better.

“Lost Daddy?” She signs at James, and “Where are we?” She doesn’t remember yet.

"No, he's just not with us, he went gift shopping and then probably for a coffee I suspect. We're at Edinburgh Castle. You wanted to take me to see the Honours?"

Oh. Yes, the lights on the jewels. They were very bright. Maybe that was it, but she had been feeling off for a little while, if she's honest. Maybe it's one of those days. "How long?" She manages to stutter out.

"About a minute, not too long for you. But you went down quite hard."

Lou can tell it wasn't a fun seizure, and her eyes are itching now from her need for sleep.

"Tired." She says, and automatically yawns her brain making the connections for her.

"We'll get you moved in a bit, and get you back to the apartment. You can have a sleep then."

"Good." Says Lou. She waits. Soon. She strokes Corra to keep herself doing something. She can just about wait. She needs to stay awake to make sure her dad finds them too. Then she can rest.


	14. Chapter 14

John doesn’t know what to do first. He wants to cry. The sense of shame he feels is now as overwhelming as his need for a drink earlier. He thinks, not for the first time, that he’s on track for the all the bad parenting awards. He’s let things slip. He knows that. He should have rung their therapist, or Lillian, spoken to James, anything other than what he just did. And now his daughter has had a seizure and he isn’t there. Which is ridiculous. She’s had plenty of seizures without him there. It’s not that that’s the real problem. The real issue is that he drank, regardless of anything else. That drinking the way he does is how he thinks he copes with loss or grief; and it never improves things. Louise hates it. It frightens her; the way adults suddenly aren’t as capable of being in charge. He knows that, and yet he did it anyway. He disregarded how she feels, and now she’s unwell and he’s already let her down. He feels sick, sweaty. He wants to go home, back to Baker Street and wrap himself in one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns and sleep for days; this whole holiday is too much too soon.

He texts James.

**Is she okay?**

His hands are shaking, so he puts down his bag of shopping so he doesn't smash it all to pieces.

**She's fine. The usual mixture of confused, sleepy and cross with herself. Plus a bit nauseous. She's cuddling Corra. They've called for the mobility vehicle to get us back to the car. Do come up and meet us though, she keeps asking for you.**

That doesn't help how he feels; knowing he's needed. His little girl needs him. He's tired; had enough. That's it. He makes a decision; damn the consequences. He's already ruined the holiday. He just wants it to end now.

**We're going home. Can you organise that when we get back to the apartment?**

This time the reply comes quickly.

**We're supposed to be going tomorrow, John. Could we not just have one last evening here? Can you not wait 24 hours? She was out for less than a minute. We don't need to rush back.**

It's not for Louise; he doesn't want to wait until tomorrow afternoon to leave Edinburgh as they had planned. If he could he'd just up and go now. Every minute longer is feeling agonising, and the pain in his stomach won't go away.

**James. I mean it. Please? We're going home. Sort it out with Mycroft, so we can leave today. Do this thing; for me? I'll be with you in a minute.**

He feels a little better having put his foot down about leaving. James will probably ask him about it when they're back at the apartment; they can talk about it then, when Louise is sleeping off her post seizure fog. Maybe he'll be able to explain, able to morph how he is feeling, the wretched emptiness, into words. James is grieving too, and Louise. Why is he being so selfish about this? But, Sherlock was his first... before all of them, they were together, at home. His eyes are stinging with tears; he doesn't want to cry, but he is. Again. He needs to pull himself together, so he's not a mess for Louise. He pulls a hankie out of his pocket and dabs his eyes and then puts his sunglasses on. It's still sunny. He should have been wearing them anyway. He walks up the hill to find the rest of his family.


	15. Chapter 15

James is floored, but doesn’t show it. He’s in survival mode right now. He has to concentrate on John and Lou; help them. John wants them to go home. Now, or rather as soon as possible. Today. James understands his partner is under stress. All three of them are. That’s probably the reason Louise just succumbed to another seizure. They are all grieving in their own ways. The whole point of the holiday was to relieve a little bit of that. Get away from Baker Street; let themselves breathe. But perhaps John has just had enough, which is fine, but frustrating. James had hoped the time had done them some good, as a couple, as a family. They are a family, aren't they? He's here looking after Louise. Doing his best, even though it’s hard to know what to do sometimes. She's looking a bit better for a drink of water and snuggling Corra. She is still not up off the floor though, as she doesn't trust the staff members to help lift her up, not whilst she can’t control her left side. She’s waiting for her dad, who knows how to do it properly, the way that won’t hurt her. She looks exhausted and upset.

"Your dad’s on his way, Louise."

She nods. She’s crunching her good hand into Corra’s fur, and Penny has gone and lain down next to her too. She keeps closing her eyes, probably because all she wants to do, and what her brain needs, is to sleep. Her forcing herself to stay awake probably isn’t doing her any good. 

When John finally arrives he looks harassed, and immediately hands his shopping bag over. He’s in survival mode too. James recognises the look; the determination to get the job done and get the hell out of there.

"What have you got in here, John? James is shocked at the weight of the bag considering its size. "Bricks?"

"Small teapot, cup and saucer set for Lillian, jewellery for the girls," James knows he means Harriet and Helen, "and a paperweight for Mycroft."

"A paperweight?" What on earth would Mycroft need a paperweight for.

"For his garden office." 

"He has a... of course he does, never mind. You see to Lou."

James watches as John gets down to Lou’s level for the second time today. 

"Hey, what you doing down here?"

"Ye- ye think you’re hilarious. You’re not. My legs aren’t cooperating now. M’wobbly. And this side is stupid." She indicates her left. "Needed you. You weren’t here." She says accusingly. John looks briefly crestfallen, and guilty; not that Louise notices but James does. It’s unfair of her, but now is not the right time to pull it up.

"I’m sorry; I’m here now, pixie. You remember how to do this?"

"I think so."

Soon John has their daughter off the floor, and into the waiting wheelchair, continually chatting to her to keep her distracted from falling asleep. When they reach the little mobility cart he stops to consider something.

"James? Will you go on the cart with her? I'll go and get the car ready. It's not worth me going on there when I can walk down. See you in a minute."

John leaves James holding the bag whilst Louise finally lets staff members help her onto the little vehicle. Then he gets on himself and they head off down the hill.

John is just opening up the car as promised when they get there. He is breathing heavily, so James realises he must have run most of the way. James thinks he is acting oddly, but can’t put a finger on it. He’ll wait until Lou’s in bed and then try and sort out what the hell is going on.


	16. Chapter 16

John watches in the rear view mirror as Louise falls asleep against James almost as soon as the car moves off. They harnessed Penny in the boot to give them more room and James offered to sit in the back with Lou and Corra; just in case anything goes awry during the drive.

They travel in almost silence. James is watching Louise sleep. John for what it is worth, is concentrating on driving. In all honestly he is glad, as he can’t afford the extra energy on conversation. The nauseous feeling which has plagued him since lunch still hasn’t abated. And he knows that he’s now being an even bigger idiot, giving himself more to feel bad for: driving after drinking, but it isn’t all that far, and he’s being careful.

When they get back to their apartment James takes the dogs in and Louise rouses just enough for John to carry her inside, enough that she isn’t a dead weight, but she’s not properly awake. And as he lays her on her bed she jerks hard in her half sleep and elbows him in the chest. It knocks the wind out of him a little, and he feels lightheaded. His stomach cramps uncomfortably and he lets out a burp tinged with whiskey. He feels like shit; physically, emotionally. His head is starting to ache. Maybe a strong coffee would help. He checks Lou is settled; she’s fast out now, snoring gently, interspersed with the usual limb flails, and varying litany of noises and the occasional word. He decides against planting a kiss on her forehead, he’d probably only wake her, and maybe get another whack for his trouble. Watching her sleep like this, considering the day they’ve had already only serves to make him realise how much he still has to lose. How blessed he still is, but somehow even this doesn’t touch him the way it should. He feels wrong, lost, broken. His eyes are threatening wetness again, and he stifles a sob.

He leaves the darkened room, pulling the door to so that Corra can go in to her mistress if necessary. Out in the hallway he tries to steady his breathing and closes his eyes against the continuing pounding in his head. With his eyes shut he can hear that in the kitchen James already has the kettle on; and is probably tidying up a little from the mess they left this morning as Lou rushed them out to the castle. He waits a beat and then steals himself to go through; no use putting off the inevitable.

"Tea?" James asks as soon as he spots John in the door way. He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Er... No thanks. Can you make me a strong coffee instead?" He takes a step into the room. It feels too warm somehow, close and oppressive.

"Of course I can." What’s implied is that James will make the coffee in exchange for conversation; that they talk about what has made John want to run for the hills, or more specifically London.

"Good. Thanks. I– Lou’s still asleep." John catches himself redundantly indicating the door he just cane through. So stupid.

"I thought she would be. Like I said the seizure wasn’t long, but she really struggled when she came round. You know how sometimes she just bounces back? And other times are like today. Will we need to keep an eye on that weakness?" James sounds worried.

"We should; she’s had that a couple of times before. Usually when they’ve been longer though. I’ll make sure it goes in her book." The diary where they make notes about physio, seizures, headaches, anything that can help the practioners working with Louise. This isn’t the conversation John was expecting, this is... not small talk. More... priming?

There is more silence between them. John rubs his eyes trying to ease the pain behind and around them.

James puts the coffee down in front of John. The smell alone makes John’s stomach turn, but he needs to do this. Be pedestrian, normal, drink coffee, explain. Be firm that they are leaving and should pack.

He lifts the cup to his mouth, ignoring the pungent smell, or trying to. He takes a large gulp, not a sip. He has to commit to this. Make the facade believeable.

It’s a mistake, the combination of hot liquid filling his mouth and running down his throat, plus the rich bitterness of the coffee combined with the headache, badly digested lunch, cider and whiskey are all too much.

As soon as the coffee hits his stomach it rebels and has him running for the bathroom.

Here he heaves pitifully into the toilet, bringing up the mouthful of coffee, plus some other stuff but not a lot.

There is still a sloshy feeling, and a dull sense of unease which suggests he’s far from over it? The pain in his head sharpens, obsidian. A hand rubs a gentle circle over his back, between his shoulderblades. James. This brings up a proper wave, and another. His stomach cramps a little but feels less bloated. 

James helps him through another couple of goes at bringing more up before he offers John, now sitting with his back to the bath, a glass of water he must have brought in from the kitchen.

"Better?" John nods tentatively. Still hurts. "Now tell me what the fuck you’re playing at."

Ah. This, thinks John, is worse than throwing up.


	17. Chapter 17

James is angry, not with the idea of going home, he wants that too now, if he’s honest. No, what’s upset him more than anything is John’s unwillingness to talk. They have a family therapist, but haven’t made the time yet to go and see them, just the three of them, not since... And John is still in touch with his own, the therapist he went to after Louise was so ill, but again he’s not ready to see them either. So they do this instead. This strained silence and despair -and of course these are normal parts of grieving. But looking at John, slumped against the bath, eyes red and bloodshot from heaving, and shaking slightly through pain, or shame, James can see now that his partner has fallen much further into himself than he realised.

"John..." he says softly or at least not harshly, "I can’t help you, if you won’t let me."

John has buried his head into his pulled up knees. He mumbles something, but James doesn’t catch it. His hearing isn’t the best these days.

"I’m sorry, John. You’ll have to say that again."

"I said– I said I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you about this right now, James. I can’t fix it. There aren’t any right things to say. I am so tired and I want us to be at home. Please, just sort out us getting back; then I can pack and we can go." John’s look is pleading; James has a suspicion he knows what’s wrong, what has gone on, but he also knows what will happen if he pushes John. Plus his own disappointed upset feelings are bubbling far too close to the surface to do either of them any good if he snaps. John will find it easier to speak when they are back on familiar territory.

"Fine. But we talk when we are home; I can’t order you anymore, but I can heavily suggest it." He hopes he sounds fair.

"I– alright. I need a shower, then I’ll pack."

"And I’ll see if we can get our flight bumped up to today. That’s a call to Mycroft’s office, I’d prefer not to be making. Never mind." That might have been a bit passive-aggressive. Oh well. John doesn’t respond, he just still has a slightly hang dog expression. James knows that it’s still early days in the grand scheme of things, that things will get easier in some small ways over time, never the same, but they’ll find a new rhythm, a different way of being a family without Sherlock. James knows it’s best if he doesn’t suggest any holidays anytime soon though.

He goes back out into the lounge and leaves John to sort out his ablutions. There’s a message on his phone. From Lillian.

**Things okay? Lillian**

John must have texted her. Probably, hopefully, not to tell her anything specific, but he often turns to her for support. James wants to ignore the message. John should be talking to him! But he doesn’t; he messages back, best not to leave her concerned, this isn’t her fault. 

**John’s struggling, and Lou had a seizure, and things are a bit fraught. Calling your brother’s office to arrange flight home. JS**

She probably won’t respond again if she thinks James is busy. Just as well, as his capacity for feigned niceties is wearing thin and he needs to keep it up just long enough to make this phone call. He flicks his mobile to the number for Mycroft’s office and calls out. He gets someone, not Anthea, who listens and then after a couple of minutes tells him she’s sorted out all the flights and they can leave at just gone four. He thanks her, and then hangs up. John is still showering, so James checks on Louise, who now has both of the dogs back in her room. She’s sleeping soundly thank goodness. 

James decides he has enough time to read his book for a little while. Packing be damned, John can sort it.


	18. Chapter 18

A gentle hand shakes Louise awake, the same hand runs across her forehead and down her cheek: that’s Daddy. Uncle James doesn’t tend to touch her face, and Papa’s hands feel– felt different. She pries her eyes open; they feel gritty. The room is thankfully still dimly lit, she isn’t sure how she’d cope if it was bright. Her dad is sitting on the edge of the bed. He looks different to earlier; she can’t figure out how yet.

"Hey, pixie. How you feeling?"

She remembers a seizure, a big one... she was with Uncle James... they waited for... oh for Daddy, then they came back... this isn’t home. The holiday apartment. Edinburgh.

"Still here, sort of. You woke me up!" She accuses. "Not cool. What time?" Her mouths still feels stumbly over words. Her face still feels weird on her bad side. She stretches that arm out too, it does what it usually does, just about... Her dad grins at her and runs a hand through his hair; nervous... why?

"Coming up to half two, little love. Uncle James has made you tea, it’s in the lounge."

Her feet feel strange, she still has her boots on; annoying.

"Mmmm tea." She realises what has altered about her dad. "You changed your clothes? Why?"

"I– I had a shower, I was hot from running around at the castle after you..."

"Don’t blame me. Are we still going to the cinema? I probably need to get changed too..." Her Dad looks away, then back. That means he’s not telling her something... oh yes, he’s nervous."What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, too quickly, "just given how you’re feeling and that I’ve had enough today..." Hand through hair again. He needs to hurry up, Louise can feel her anxiety building as he stalls on explaining what is going on.

"What?! Did I do something?" She curls herself inwards, and nibbles her own right forearm, not hard, but it makes her feel better.

"No, Louise, of course not. Not everything is about you!" That was angry and a bit loud. Not fair. "No... I– I want us to go home, sweetheart. I’ve packed our things, and I need to do yours, so get up and go drink that tea. We’re leaving soon."

Louise tics out of frustration, but she isn’t upset, just confused. Her dad looks tired, but sort of relieved. He gets up and draws back the curtains to start sorting out her things. She watches him for a little while before getting up; packing makes her feel funny, especially if she’s not doing it, and they’re her things, but he’s right to do it for her as it’s a huge undertaking at the best of times.

In all honesty she is still quite wobbly and wrong from earlier so even though she wants to make a bigger fuss about leaving, she doesn’t have the energy. And it wouldn’t be fair. She goes looking for her tea, and finds it on the coffee table in from of Uncle James, he’s sitting on the sofa.

"My tea. Not yours, mine." She says as she picks it up from the surface. The mug is lidded so she doesn’t slosh it everywhere. "We’re leaving. Why are we going?" She asks James, more by accident than consciously.

"We– Your father thought it would be better if we went home today. That’s all; as far as I know. He wants to be back at Baker Street I think."

"That’s fair. So do I really. I also need a snack, snack, snake. A SNACK! Sorry."

"I’ll check your bag for one of those. And don’t worry I’m sure there’s no reptiles."

"Good."

He finds a muffin, and Louise eats it and pets the dogs whilst James wanders off to see if her dad is finished and then shortly after they are all bundled into a taxi, bags loaded and on the way to the airport. That was quick. Not the hire car... Louise ponders, that gets left at the apartment, which is odd. Maybe Uncle Myc is sorting it out. He does those things. Or rather his staff do. Daddy is quiet, still with the hair thing. Maybe it’s just a sad. A sad is okay right now.


	19. Chapter 19

In lots of ways it’s nice having a plane to themselves; Louise institutes herself next to James again, and insists they watch something together. John views this exchange with quiet wonder; James is being remarkably patient with her. The flight isn’t long, so there isn’t much need for lots of entertainment. John tries to keep himself busy reading, but his thoughts keep wandering back to Sherlock, and when he forces himself away from that to how upset Louise is going to be about him drinking. It’s a conversation he isn’t looking forward to, she’s so unpredictable in her reactions to things sometimes, which complicates everything.

 

John remembers when they’d not long moved to London. She’d slipped away after school, alone, out of the sight of Mycroft’s minions who’d been looking out for her. Before the seizures, but after she’d been ill, before the dogs too, and before Sherlock got sick; it should have been easy to spot her, a noisy child with a limp, but within dozens of schoolgirls boarding buses she’d played the tricks Sherlock had taught her, doubling back and staying in the middle of the crowd. She’d actually confouded paid, trained agents, and against all good sense appeared to vanish. It had been terrifying. They’d had no idea where she’d gone, or why, or if she’d been taken. It had soon become apparent though. Once Sherlock had become part of their lives again, it had forced John’s hand on the truth about who Mary was, what she’d done. Louise had been confused when they’d explained, but almost instantly hated her for hurting her beloved Papa, a woman who she had held dear for years, and it had muddled her feelings when she’d already felt vulnerable. Running away on her own, a behaviour John recognises in himself, had given her a chance to sort some of those feelings. In the end, the secret visit to her mother’s grave on the anniversary of her death, for the first time ever, had helped her, but had been ill planned and stressful for everyone else. 

 

John muses that in lots of ways even though his daughter is so like his late husband, all the very many terrible ways of coping come straight from the John Watson playbook. He hopes they can avoid another such incident when he confesses.

 

His phone buzzes. A text from Louise.

 

**You ok, Daddy? You’re quiet, and you look tired. I’m sorry if we had to come home because of me...**

 

She waves over at him from her seat with James, Corra by her feet, she still looks exhausted herself; she’ll probably go back to bed when they get home or at least retreat to her bedroom. He thinks carefully about how to reply.

 

**No, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. And don’t worry about me, I’m fine, thanks for the concern but it’s misplaced. Let’s just get home and we can all relax.**

 

She types and then waves at him again. The text comes through.

 

**Ok, Daddy. I love you. X**

 

He feels his eyes welling up, and his throat and chest feel tight. Why is this so hard? She trusts him, she needs him and he’s let her down. She’ll be so heartbroken when she finds out. And first he has to speak to James. Soon the light comes on to let them know to buckle back up for landing. He hadn’t seen they were that close to London. He should feel better being here. He does in a way, but he wants to be back behind his own front door, in their safe space.

 

They hustle off the plane when it touches down, and into a car Mycroft has left waiting.


	20. Chapter 20

James, for all his barely concealed seething at John, is glad to be home. It’s still somewhat strange to think of the large townhouse as home, especially after he lived for so long isolated in the countryside. Louise, much to James’s delight, asks John if she can go have a shower as soon as they are in through the door, and declares that she’ll lie down after that. They leave her to it (the dogs will call for help if she needs it) and John immediately busies himself wholesale with the unpacking, mostly James suspects in an attempt to avoid talking.

"Do you want help?" James asks, after ten minutes watching from where he’s settled himself on the armchair in the corner of their bedroom. He wants to stand, that would put the pressure on John but he just can’t do it without pain for that long anymore; no use ruining his own comfort for his idiot partner.

"No, I’m fine. I can manage, thank you." John appears to be on some mission to make sure every thing is organised to within an inch of it’s life. He’s even unpacking and re-sorting the wash bag, even though it’s specifically the one they usually take away.

"So...we’re home. This is what _you_ wanted..." James leaves the sentence open, hanging, waiting. John bites, turning to look at James, narrow eyed then back to the unpacking.

"Yes. I did. Do you have a point, or an issue? Because I am trying to get on here." James can hear the edge to John’s voice, the frustration and weariness; he can’t let it slide though, this has gone on long enough today.

"Of course I damned well do... But I can’t just guess what’s gone on, even though I have a bloody good idea. I need to hear you tell me. You need to tell me. Ignoring it won’t do anyone any good." There. He said it.

John waits a second, seems to think about saying something, clenches his hands into tight fists and angrily sweeps the cases off the bed; the remaining unpacked items fall to the floor, and it all scatters into an ugly pile. Then he cries. Again. Broken, swallowed sobs. James doesn’t mind the crying; it’s something at least, better than that closed up version of John that is refusing to deal with anything, the John who’s tried in vain to make it through today. It doesn’t grant instant forgiveness though, James needs to reiterate where they stand, how they have to make this work, for all their sakes.

"Shit, James. I fucked up. I drank, you know I did. Don’t be like this."

"Like what? I know I’m not... but I’m not stupid, John." Sherlock. He stops short of saying he’s not Sherlock. The unspoken implication is awkward, James wants to say his name, but knows it would suppress the rest of the conversation. And this isn’t about that anyway, not directly. "I don’t want... how much? Enough to make you sick."

"I– A pint of cider. Two whiskeys, double... I was mostly sick because I feel like shit because I couldn’t sleep, I _can’t_ sleep, James. I didn’t sleep last night, or much at all before that. You know that... I’m exhausted and I needed a drink, or I thought I did. I had one with my work friends too, but that was an accident, I was on autopilot for hanging out with them, being normal. I’m sorry." 

"And are you sorry that after our daughter had a seizure, you drove us home drunk? How irresponsible can you be? You could have said something." 

"Of course I’m bloody sorry... and said what, exactly? Why would I have told you then? Told Lou when she was still barely able to hold a conversation, and risked her having a meltdown? We needed to go back to the apartment, so we did... We got back in one piece. And then we came home. Don’t give me a hard time over this, I’m giving myself enough of one as it is."

James stands now and moves over to sit next to John on the bed. He doesn’t reach out yet, his partner is still coiled like a spring, liable to lash out if James makes a wrong move; not the best situation to be in.

"I’m allowed to be angry, John. Driving us was a ridiculous decision; but it’s done now." James takes a deep breath and moves the conversation on; back to where it needs to go. The reason all of this is happening. "We need to go back to therapy, all of us. And, sweetheart," not a moniker James uses often for John, or lightly, but the situation warrants it, "it’s alright, how you’re feeling is okay, you can miss him, John. You don’t have to pretend that none of this hurts. It does. I keep expecting to find him entertaining Louise; wondering why we have Penny with us because he needs her. It’s horrible and it claws at my heart. I can’t even begin to imagine how it is for you."

"The same." John manages. "But I need to at least do better... even if I feel like shit. Lou needs me to."

"She does, but not today. Today you need rest. Leave the unpacking, it’ll keep. You need to try and sleep, love. I’ll check on Louise. We can talk to her about this tomorrow anyway. She needs peace as much as you do." James finally reaches out for John, a hand, and John instantly scoots up to beside him for proper comfort. It’s a start, they can deal with everything else tomorrow today they can just be.


	21. Chapter 21

Louise blinks awake into the weird half light of her bedroom at night. She is so happy to be back in her own sheets, washed in the right washing powder. Home feels right and safe like this. Cosy. She knows she’s more relaxed than she was when they were in Edinburgh. Which is strange, because Edinburgh is home too... but she doesn’t concentrate on the weirdness, it hurts and she wonders if that was the problem earlier.

 

Her nightlight is on and she remembers Uncle James coming and checking on her in the evening, tucking her into bed, and making sure she ate a snack, had a drink and took her nighttime medication. She’d asked after her Dad, and Uncle James had said he didn’t feel well so was resting. She’d been too tired to worry about it, but now it niggles a little. She looks at the time. It’s 3am. Far too early to bother her parents, especially if Daddy has been poorly. She’d asked him if he was okay on the flight home, but he said he was fine. She hates that he still does that sometimes... lies to stop her from being upset. It makes her angry so she tics really hard, which wakes the dogs, who eye her quizzically and Corra lets out a little concerned yip.

 

"Shhhhhh, I’m fine. Just awake, because I slept so long already." She gets out of bed as softly as possible, making sure to turn off the monitor which is next to the bed; it’s on for emergencies. This isn’t an emergency. It’s more of an exploration. Pulling on her dressing gown and finding her slippers, and making a last minute decision to drag a blanket off her armchair she creeps out onto the landing. There she eschews the stairlift. Too noisy; even if her legs still aren’t working properly. This is a secret mission. She sits on the edge of the stairs opting to bump herself down on her bottom, but stops on the half landing as she has to suppress tics. She squeezes herself into a tight hug. She can’t wake daddy and uncle James, that’s not fair. Eventually, she is able to move off again and makes it to the living room. She closes the door and puts a standard lamp on. Usually about now Papa would be up... unable to sleep properly from being in pain or just generally being awake, so he and Lou had often spent twilight hours together in each other’s company. Lou would make them both toast and they’d chat or not as they felt fit.

 

Toast! That’s what she needs, she’s hungry, as she last ate properly at lunch time, and her evening snack had been a fruit bar.She finds a fresh loaf of bread in the bread bin. Their housekeeper must have popped in with groceries earlier. Uncle Mycroft pays for her; they needed help when Papa first got sick keeping the house tidy, Daddy couldn’t do it all on his own, and that was before Uncle James came. She uses tongs to put two slices into the toaster. She loves the toaster. Papa had bought it especially for her, because it has clear sides so you can watch the toast brown. Her dad had insisted they renovate the kitchen when Louise had moved in, mostly to make it safer, as he didn’t trust her with the old stove, or want her papa to still use it for experiments. She lays her head on the work surface to watch the toast and pops it up herself with the stop button when it looks just right. She quickly gets out some butter and a knife to spread it. She should have done that first; she sometimes uses funny orders for things and it annoys her. Papa would have reminded her, then they would share the toast. She sits in her usual dining chair, and puts the toast into the middle of the table like they used to. She waits. She always offered Papa the first slice. He can’t take it. That feels wrong. She doesn’t know what to do now... she can feel herself getting upset. Corra fusses by her feet and Lou remembers that there are dog treats in the jar. She gets up, grabs it and ends up shaking the container slightly through a tic, so manages to hype Corra up a bit, and encourage Penny from her bed under the living room desk where she has been resting. The both crowd up to her excitedly. This isn’t the time for this.

 

"Oh shoooooo puppies.” She says and tosses a few treats into the living room where the girls fight over them. She pulls the kitchen door over so she can have some peace. Her head feels too full. She just wants to eat her toast, why does everything come with stupid feelings? Her tics are tickling and overwhelming. 

 

She takes a deep breath and speaks, maybe if she talks as if he’s there she can do this. "Papa? I made us toast..." She won’t get a response, but she can pretend. "It’s okay if you don’t want any. I guess you can’t...” A hot trickle courses down her cheek and she automatically sticks out her tongue to catch it; salty. She forces another round of air down into her tight lungs and is brave.

 

“Today was... it wasn’t a good day.” She picks up a piece of toast for herself nibbling on it between words and inevitable tics. “We went to the Castle, in Edinburgh... And I got lost a bit, and made Daddy and Uncle James sad. They just went away without me. Not on purpose. I was distracted. You know I get distracted. Then I panicked, without them. I– you wouldn’t have lost me. No, that’s not fair... not when you were sick, but when you were well you were faster than me at walking. If I was distracted you might have gone ahead, but maybe noticed sooner. I don’t know... they were engrossed in each other. They hate being without you. They’re trying too hard to both make up for you not being with them.” Lou remembers Uncle James’s words, “Plus Daddy didn’t feel well I don’t think. And I wasn’t well. Had a seizure. Big one, but not a hospital sort. Just enough to make me sleepy and wrong. S’why I’m awake, lots of sleep. Also hungry.” Two triangles of toast are missing from the plate. She’s eaten Papa’s pieces. Now her own. “But anyway we came home early. It’s– rubbish. Wanted to go to the cinema. To take Uncle James. He misses you so much, Papa. And he’s so... conscious of trying not to be you and how awful Daddy is finding this. How awful I’m finding it... I– it’s... it’s the worst. I came home earlier and expected to find you, because we’d been away... and just wanted you so badly to be here when we got home. You are home, Papa. You’re in every timber, and nook and cranny of this place. And Uncle James wants to escape it and be in it all at once. Same for me and Daddy... We..." She looks down at the plater, the toast is gone. Oh. She sits in the stillness for a little while; holding her tics in tight, listening as if she might get a response. When one doesn’t come, she sobs hard, lets herself down off the chair, and squishes herself into a tiny pool on the floor.

 

She knows she needs to let the dogs in and go to bed, but she can feel so many tics and an unsettling buzz threatening to overwhelm her again. She scrapes herself off the floor just enough to, and makes just enough to pull the sliding door ajar for the pups to squeeze in. She curls back up and Corra pushes her weight into her back. It’s comforting. They stay that way... Louise lets her tics go a little. She aches.

 

Eventually, she makes her way to Papa’s old room, now set up as a guest room and snuggles down into the bed. She finally falls back asleep in the gentle softness.


	22. Chapter 22

 

"Morning, Watson ~~~~."

John smiles. Even with his eyes still closed he can hear the warmth in James’s voice. 

"Morning."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, much better. Thanks for taking care of me yesterday. Even though I didn’t deserve it at all."

"Of course you deserve it."

John knows today he needs to be kinder to himself, so doesn’t reply. It will be hard enough with the mood Louise will be in when he confesses that he decided to drink. He keeps his eye closed, feels to his left to find how much room there is, and rolls over to hug James. He stays cuddled up to his partner’s chest for a few minutes, just content with the comfort. Eventually, he realises, he can’t stay there all day, so opens his eyes and moves to sit up. That’s when he spots the monitor. Blinking red, meaning the other end is off or has developed a fault. Not good.

"James?! You did switch on Lou’s monitor when you put her to bed?” He’s already getting out of the bed. Throwing on his dressing gown.

"Yes, John. Medication, snack and a drink, teeth brushed and monitor on. Short bedtime routine. I do know it."

John is out of the door now. But James is still shouting after him, as he can’t get up so quickly himself. John can’t afford to stop and listen. He needs to check on his baby.

Lou’s door is open, not unusual, they don’t close it always but the room sounds too quiet. John looks in and sees the monitor is switched off, but also that the covers are thrown back off the bed and there is no sign there of Louise or the dogs. Thoughts crowd John’s head, including if she’s figured out what he did yesterday, and done a Lou special: left the house, caught a bus somewhere. She could be anywhere.

"JAMES! The monitor is switched off and she’s not here!" John yells down the corridor to James who is still barely out of their bed.

"She’s probably downstairs, John..."

"And if she isn’t, James?"

"Then she’ll be with Mycroft, or Molly and Greg."

John bounds down the stairs. The stairlift is at the top too he realises, she can do stairs usually but was incredibly wobbly on her feet after her seizure, so if she went down she must have really wanted to go somewhere. He hopes it was just somewhere in the house.

He checks the living room first, strangely there are a few dog kibbles on the floor. Evidence that his daughter and her pups have been there. Then he spots the dirty plate and butter smeared knife. She doesn’t usually make this much of a mess before she runs away so hoping he’s right he opts to go down the corridor to Sherlock’s old room. Penny comes out to meet him halfway. A good sign. If Louise was anywhere else, having taken Corra who she can walk on her own, Penny would have been pining for them both at the front door.

"Hey girl. Is Lou in there?"

He carries on towards to the bedroom still afraid of what he might find.

But all is well; as sprawled out in the guest bed, toast crumbs still evident around her mouth is a snoring Lou. Her cheeks are tear stained and he worries if she’s been in distress, but Corra’s casual attitude to John’s presence suggests she’s probably alright.

”Pixie?” He calls, gently squeezing her shoulder. She shrugs him off and whines, not quite awake. He waits a minute. Checks her temperature out of habit. Normal. Then calls her again; she comes to squinting at him.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, sweetheart. I found you... What were you doing out of bed, darling? If you weren’t well you should have called us."

"Eating toast. I was well... just awake. Did a Papa and Lou thing... was nice, sad and a bit angry, but nice. Uncle James said you were sick... so I left you sleeping. I can do stuffs."

All her thoughts come in a jumble. It makes John smile, trying to follow the disparate threads as he watches he contort herself impossibly while speaking; her motor tics.

But the way she talks about Sherlock and her keeping up their little rituals is so sweet, and heartbreaking it crushes him momentarily, and he has to look away so she can’t see him upset. Even so, he’s glad she felt able to take the time she so obviously needs right now, despite the fact she’d nearly just given him a heart attack.

"Of course, you can, little love." He says when the moment has passed. "And I– I was a bit. But I’m better now. Listen. You sleep a bit more, and I’ll make us all breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Yummy..." She says already drifting back off, burying her face into the pillows, humming.

John heads back out to the kitchen, where James has just made himself known and is tidying up Lou’s midnight snacking mess.

"I found her. In the guest room."

"I guessed as much, as you stopped yelling."

"Sorry, love. I was worried she’d already figured yesterday out. Pretty much the only reason she hasn’t is because she wasn’t well. I wish I didn’t have to tell her."

"But you do. Why don’t I start breakfast, and you ring Lillian? You know Louise will want her after you tell her. So putting her on standby is a good plan. It’s no good if she’s busy. As much as she loves me she won’t stay with me upset like that, and then we’ll have to call Greg and Molly."

"I know, I will."

He takes himself into the living room and pulls the doors closed in case Louise does decide to get up, and calls Lilly.

"Hello John." She answers, brightly, too brightly. She knows exactly what he’s called for. Damned Holmeses.

"Hi. I- Are you busy today?"

"No, I’m free. You want me to have Lou?"

Straight to the point, of course.

"Yeah, she’s not going to want to speak to me, or James after I tell her." That will be hard. This is so ridiculous. They’re still all grieving. They should be finding comfort in each other, and their memories. Not arranging time to be apart. But it is what it is. Maybe, in fact properly apart would be best, John reasons. "Can you have her at yours?"

"No. My own kids are having sleepovers, can’t really have Louise here. It isn’t fair. I’ll come to you. I’m sure we can figure out how to keep you out of each other’s way until she calms down. Trust me." Lilly’s voice is firm, no nonsense. But there is a hint of affection for John there, she knows he’s trying, at least. "I’ll bring over the usual tools, chocolate mostly, and I’ll pack for staying over. I know she’ll take a while to come round, especially now. It’ll be fine, John. I’ve missed her with you going away. I was slightly worried you wouldn’t come back..."

This startles John. He hadn’t even considered it. Baker Street is their home. But perhaps holidaying straight away was distasteful. It hadn’t felt so. He’ll have to unpack that prospect later.

"I’m sorry. James just thought it would do us good, and it did mostly. It’s just hard being home without..." He doesn’t continue. And the silence sours between them before Lillian speaks again.

"Of course it is." She says softly, then falsely bright again. "Anyway. I’ll get my overnight bag sorted. Means I am ready to leave as soon as she calls me. Be gentle, John, with yourself as well as Lou."

"I will. Thanks Lilly."

"You’re welcome."

She calls off and John goes to savour the calm before the storm; help James with breakfast before dropping a bombshell on their daughter.


End file.
